Karma, daughter of death
by Bookworm813
Summary: Karma has known all her life she was cursed. Forced to pay the price for her mothers affair with the god off death, she is sentenced to burn at the stake. When she is saved and brought to the covenant, she is given another shot at life, in exchange for the lives of trators. She gladly ecepts, but what happens when she realizes not everyone is an enemy? Rated t for lots of killing.
1. Chapter 1

When I was 3 years old, my father tried to murder me. He took his great, club like hands and beat them down on my small body. My bones snapped like dry twigs under his fists, and purple bruises blossomed across my skin. I was so tiny, the force of his blows alone should have killed me. But I survived. Within days I was healed and bouncing around as if the incident had never occurred. That was when he knew the shameful rumors circulating about the circumstances of my birth were true. I was a daughter of death. After that incident, he became fearful of me, generally leaving me up to my own devices. Everyone did. I have been hated from the moment I was born. The reason being that as I took my first breath, my mother took her last. It's my fault my father is the way he is, and no one will let me forget it. Because I killed her, he turned to alcohol as a remedy for his sorrow. That's why he spent all our money on the foul liquid known as liquor. That is why my father tried to kill me. That is why my father beats me. That is why my father named me Karma. That is why I'm alone. So you see, my life has been a string of endless misery. Causing suffering to those around me. I deserve their wrath, at least that's what they tell me. I personally can't grasp why I'm at fault for things so far out of my control. I could not help that the old god of death fell for the snare that was my mothers beauty, nor could I help that she was unfaithful to my father. I don't see how I can be blamed simply for being born. In all honesty, I think that those around me are simply weak minded and looking for someone to blame for their countless sorrows. Had my mother survived, she would have been ostracized and hated for her unfaithful ways and for bringing me into the world. It is only because she is dead that she became the victim. That may seem cold, but the truth often is. Had she survived, she doubtlessly would hate me as much, if not more, then my father does. It's just the was of things.

Today is the day I'm to be burned. My father had finally decided he had put up with me and the trail of misery left in my wake for long enough. I cant see why he couldn't have decided to do this 13 years ago and save everyone the trouble of raising me. It may sound like I don't care for my life, but I honestly do. I am hungry for it. My hart hammers against my rib cage with a force almost equal to my fathers fist those 10 long years ago, my eyes stung with the effort of holding back tears, and a cry built in my throat, I longed to plea for my life. To scream and sob and struggle against the priests tight grip on my arm as he leads me into the church to prepare me for my execution, but it won't matter. They will kill me either way, and I refuse to give them the satisfaction. I could already picture my sisters faces as they would be as I burned. Sara, my oldest sister, would stare impassively into the flames as they ate away my flesh, as if watching a dull play. Her calm demeanor untouched, but I would know that a malicious gleam shone in her eyes. Amanda would jeer and laugh at my pain. She always did enjoy my suffering. Rebecca, who was the closest to me in age an by far the most lovely of my half sisters, would be paying me no mind. She would be clinging to the arm of her current toy, whispering lies of love into his ear, and he, like all the fools before him, would fall for her honeyed words. She would be to busy filing that ignorant fool's head with lies to spare me a second though. If this surprises you, it shouldn't. I have already told you that I am unloved.

The priest refused to look upon me, as if even a mere glance would sully his holiness. I was expecting this reaction, but that isn't to say it didn't irk me a great deal.

"You know," I began testily, "I despise you about as much as you do me, but for a very different reason." the priests froze, eyes widened. I stared straight into them, my gave unwavering. His eyes were a washes out blue color that went well with what little white hair he had left. "You see, you hate me because of who I was sired by, which is something out of my control that honestly has very little to do with me. I hate you for something that is actually in your control. You have your head stuck so far up your rear end that you can't see I'm the one suffering, not you. I'm about to die. You could at least look at the girl your about to kill." It was a rather impressive speech if I do say so myself. I delivered it with a cold, unwavering voice that was hostile, yet emotionless at the same time. If I was going to die, might as well make my last words count. It obviously made an impression on the priest as well. He's eyes grew eyes wider if possible, and his moth was gaping like a fish. Satisfied with the reaction I was getting, I turned forward once again and offered him my arm, an impish gleam in my hazel eyes. "Shall we. I wouldn't want to be late for my own funeral pry, so to speak." Almost as if in a daze, he allowed me to hook my arm through his and we resumed walking. The still stunned man led me to a small, plain, dirty room. A simple white dress lay out upon the thin, threadbare cot. Of corse my father would want the dress I currently wore back. Rebecca would probably fit into it, she was always rather small for her age. In all honesty that suited me just fine. I would have no need for it in a few minuets anyway, and I wanted nothing from that man. I hated him. Hated him with a burning passion. Ironic, I know.

I had just finished changeling when a hesitant knock sounded at my door.

"Come in!" I called, attempting to make my voice childish and sing song. I was going to make that priest wet his pants if it was the last thing I did, which it would be. To my surprise, it wasn't the priest who poked his head through the door, but the local hedge priest. A tiny, mousy man he was, with a small, but growing shiny bald spot on the top of his head.

"Come child." He whispered, beaconing me towards him. When I reached his arms length, he took my hand in his and began hurrying me along, the slap of this sandals and the patter of my bare feet were the only sounds echoing down the empty corridor.

"Where are we going?" I asked finally.

"Somewhere safe." That was all I needed to here.


	2. Chapter 2

I wasn't sure how many days had passed before my little expedition was over, but what I do know is most of my trip involved being whisked away under the cover of darkness, or smuggled amidst boxes and crates like some sort of forbidden cargo. By the time the journey was at its end, I had developed a strong disliking of cargo ships.

Finally, the hedge priest who had accompanied me through the most recent stretch of the journey, helped me down off the boat. By now my once pristine white gown was torn, tattered, and muddy, and my soft, golden curls were matted. I was bedraggled and wild looking, probably resembling a woodland animal more then a girl of 13 years. That didn't matter though. Butterfly's fluttered in my stomach and I was tingling with anticipation. I was so exited, I once had to remind myself to breath. If what the first hedge priest who had rescued me said was true, for the first time in my life, I would be safe! I would be cared for! Dare I hope, possibly even... Loved? I had never experienced that before. I knew deep down that love was a useless and trivial thing, as I had gone 13 years without it, and had watched it rip apart my sisters countless suitors, but I still held on to the futile hope that I would be loved some day. That may sound horridly cliche, but I don't mind. It took a few deep breaths to calm down enough to replace my mask of impassiveness. It would do me no favors to display childlike emotions. Not now, now ever. So I swallowed everything I was feeling and turned back to the priest.

"End of the line, little one. Be on your way now." The man said, his eyes trained on my bare and filthy feet.

"Thank you." I murmured with a stoic and collected air. I briefly mused on how odd I must sound, looking like a woodland animal yet speaking like a dignified noble. With that, I spun on my heal and began sauntering up to the place that was to become my new home. It was an ancient place of worship. A stone church. It held an air of sinister beauty about it, alluring and timeless, beaconing me forward. At first I stepped cautiously, hesitant and unsure of myself, but I soon put on a brave face, holding my head high. After all, I was a daughter of Mortain, death himself sired me. What had I to fear? Nothing of this world, that was for sure. My resolve was unwavering as I marched up to my new home. Before long I stood directly in front of the convent door. I raised my hand and brought it down on the door three times, hard. The loud pounding echoed in my ears.

The door was thrust opened and out stepped a small, stocky woman with a stoic face, but warm brown eyes. She was cloaked in black from head to toe, as if she was embraced by shadows. She silently took hold of my elbow and led me inside. I trotted along side her like an obedient puppy, through barren rooms and down empty halls. Finally, we stopped outside a heavy wooden door. The tinny woman knocked.

"Enter." A strong commanding voice came through the door, sending a shiver down my spine. My guide pulled the door opened for me, to reveal another plain room. The furniture was sparse, but lovely in a strange, hardy way. He same way you find beauty in a mountain, or better yet, and strong old oak tree. However, it is not the furnishings that drew my attention, but the woman sitting at the desk busily scribbling letters. She didn't acknowledge my presence any more then to direct me to a seat.

"Karma Cobbler," she began. Somehow, it didn't a specially surprise me that she knew my name. She seemed like the kind of person who you would expect to know everything. Even the way she held herself spoke of hard won knowledge. "Do you know the reason for which you were brought here child?" The woman asked. She was old, that much I could tell, but strong too, making it impossible to determine her precise age.

"I am here because my father decided I had been a burden in his household long enough and decided to have me... disposed of." I spat out bitterly. The woman, who I could only assume to be the abbess, looked up at me for the first time. Her clear blue eyes were hard and cold, like ice, yet they gleamed with intelligence. She nodded.

"So," she continued, turning her eyes back to her quill and parchment. "Do you know the circumstances of your birth?"

"I am well aware." This seemed to surprise her a bit. She briefly paused in her scribbling before continuing. "Something wrong?" I asked, why voice heavy with false innocence.

"Nothing wrong child. Only that most girls brought here have very little if any prior knowledge of why they are so different from others."

"That's lovely, now, can you explain where exactly I am?" I thought about it for a minuet before adding a polite "please" as an afterthought. This woman did not seem like the kind to put up with rude, insolent children who didn't know their place. I had to spear to have some manners.

This time if she was surprised by my demeanor she didn't show it. And so she told me. Told me everything I needed to hear. Told me of how I was to be a handmaiden of my father, trained in skills most girls wouldn't dare dream of learning. I was not daunted by the prospect of talking another's life as payment for the new life that would be provided for me.

In the end though, she gave me a choice. Be given to a kind family, perhaps one that had recently lost a child or was unable to bare one of their own, or serve as is my birthright. It didn't seem like much of a choice to me.

"I will serve my father." I said firmly.

"Good" the abbess nodded. "Annith will get you taken care off. Welcome to the convent."


	3. Chapter 3

Annith was beautiful, with kind eyes and wispy blond hair. The kind of girl you would want as an older sister.

She wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to her. I was started, and, being unused to the more gentle side of physical contact, flinched away. She didn't seem discouraged though, as she smiled warmly at me.

"Hello, I'm Annith. We're going to be like sisters, you and I." She giggled, as if we were sharing some private joke. To someone who had been excluded for all her life thus far, it was a welcome change.

We arrived at at my new room. It was simple, like the rest of the convent, but seemed elegant and elaborate to my weary eyes. I looked at the bed longingly. Annith, observing my longing glance towards the bed, chuckled. "Oh I forgot, you must be exhausted! I'll let you catch up on your sleep, but before I go, could you answer me one thing?"

"Mhm" I muttered incoherently, too tiered to even bother being wary of the question.

"What's your name?" I blinked, surprised by the simpleness of her request.

"Karma." I answered, eager to find sleep, in a real bed no less! With that, my new sister left, and I drifted contently to the realm of dreams.

A/N: sorry it's short. Reviews are welcomed.


	4. Chapter 4

I awoke with a start to the sound of someone bustling about my new room. I opened my eyelids a crack and peered blearily up out of my nest of blankets to see Annith. She had set down a tray of food by my bedside and was busying herself trying to unravel the mess I had made of my blankets. I debated laying still and allowing her to assume I was still asleep, or answering the beaconing call of the first real food I had had in a long time. In the end, my stomach won out. I groaned and rolled over.

"Oh your awake!" Annith said cheerfully.

"Food." I mumbled, not ready for an engaging conversation until I had a full stomach. My new sister passed me the tray containing my breakfast. I immediately began cramming food in my mouth, a habit that had developed when I was small from constant hunger and the cruel children who would snatch away the meager scraps my father provided me with supposedly out of the non existent goodness of his equally non existent hart.

"So." Annith began as I downed the last of my meal. "What made you come here? What was your family like?" Had I still been cramming food into my mouth, I would have choked. Personal questions right off the bat? if i learned one thing, it was that Annith didn't beat around the bush. I was unsure how much I wanted to say, or even how much I could say. I was used to keeping my secrets close, but looking at my new "sister", I wanted so desperately to be able to trust her. I took a deep breath and made my decision. I needed to learn to trust, and Annith seemed like a good place to start, so I told her.

I told her of my father. His greasy brown hair falling lank over his forehead, panting from the effort it had taken to break my bones. How he would make me shave his face useing his sleek, sharp, hunting knife, as if her were incapable of preforming the task himself, an how he beat me if i nicked him. His club like hands and the way he stank off alcohol. I told her of my sisters as well.

I told her of my eldest sister, Sara. How perfect she was. Her pin straight hair, so pale blond it seemed white, that hung down her back to her waist, or sometimes was tied up in a neat and perfect bun. Her alabaster skin, that all the girls in our village envied, bore no scars. If you saw us walking down the street, you would believe her to be a high class lady, and I her lowly servant. sisters, or even half sisters, would not come to mind. She was calm and orderly, never raising her voice, an expert at mending rips in our dresses (well, all but mine. Somehow she always messed mine up), embroidery, cooking, cleaning, and all other house hold tasks. She always kept an impassive face, only letting her hatred of me show through her sharp tongue, which she used to criticize and ridicule me at every opportunity, and her ice-like pale blue eyes, which seemed to penetrate my soul and lay it bare for the world to see, as if she saw all my faults and shortcomings and they disgusted her.

I then told her of Amanda, the fiery middle child, and how she used to pin me to the ground and pinch me on my stomach and forearms, so that when the bruises formed they would not be visible to anyone who might think to help me. She would hiss words like 'filthy bastard' into my ear, filling my mind with them. she never failed to remind me what a despicable piece of scum I was. In honesty, I have always thought that had I not been sired by death, Amanda and I would have been close, for I had always admired her passion. But she was cruel to me, even more so then my other sisters, for while they hid their dislike under layers of indifference, Amanda was hostile, aggressive, and dangerous. I spent many days hiding up in trees, and lurking in the shadows of backstreets and alleyways, trying to avoid both her, and my father, whom she so often reminded me of. Her hair was a ruddy reddish brown color, much like her eyes. I know that she longed for hair like Sara's, but then again who didn't. Sara was lovely and next to her Amanda looked plain. I always believed it suited her, though I would never dare say that out loud. She shared some resemblance in the face to our stunning eldest sister though, and she truly was beautiful, much as I was at loath to admit it.

Finally I told her the sister who's age was nearest to my own, and her own special brand of hatred for me. Her name was Rebecca, and her bouncy black curls combined with her porcelain like skin and sharp blue eyes framed by dark lashes created a stunning image the had boys head over heals in love with her. Her indifference towards me showed with painful clarity. When my sleeve caught on something and pulled up just enough to reveal a livid purple bruise, I would look up at her with pleading eyes. Silently begging 'say something, please, make the pain stop, stand up for me, please!' She would look upon me withy the same blue, cold, guarded eyes as Sara, and then seek out one of her many admirers. She never cared for me, but at least I never obtain any more bruises as a result. Though the bruises faded within the hour, they hurt, and as soon as they faded from my skin, either Amanda or my father would replace them with new ones, and the cycle continued.

When I finished my story, A warm hand came to rest on my shoulder, and I felt things would be alright. I shrugged the hand away, but in return offered a smile, which Annith gladly returned. "Do you feel well enough to begin training?" She asked, changing the subject. Instantly my eyes became wide.

"Yes! Lets go!" I demanded, all sleep gone from my voice. I scrambled out of the bed and hit the ground running, only to burst into the hall and realize with a start I had no clue where anything was. I must have looked a fright i suppose, my knee length honey colored hair was tussled and knotted, and i wore nothing but the thin and dirty nightgown i had been wearing upon my arrival (courtesy of one of the daughters ofthe captain who's boat i had beed transported in).

I peeked back into the bedroom. "This might go faster if you lead the way." I pointed out helpfully. Annith chuckled. "Your probably right." She smiled as she looped her arm through mine and led me down the hall. It was the first day of my new life. My better life.


End file.
